


It Will Always Be Yours

by little0bird



Series: Spring Returning [13]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Braime fanfic, Canon divergence - A Game of Thrones, F/M, Game of Thrones Fix-It, It will always be yours, Musings on love and loss, Post - Game of Thrones (TV), Pregnant Brienne of Tarth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-18 16:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21830359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little0bird/pseuds/little0bird
Summary: Jaime laughed and ran his hand over her hair. “Love” was no longer a word he threw about with abandon, but he knew with the same certainty that the sun would rise in the morning, that he loved her.  Unreservedly and without question or condition. The smile faded to an echo on his lips, and he pressed her palm against his chest, to the steady thump of his heartbeat. ‘You did steal this.  You took it with you when you left King’s Landing with Podrick.  And I thought I hadn’t one to give. Not until I saw you again at Riverrun.‘It was yours, Brienne.  And it will always be yours.’
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Spring Returning [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1392991
Comments: 12
Kudos: 100





	It Will Always Be Yours

Selwyn Tarth didn’t consider himself to be devout. He attended services in the sept when it was required of him. Prayed when he felt he must. He did, however, firmly adhere to the prescribed rest day every seven days, as commanded in _The Seven Pointed Star_. Other than necessary chores, the castle’s inhabitants were free to do what they chose on the seventh day. And on this particular day, he proclaimed, if anyone in the castle needed a rest day, it was his daughter. 

She’d returned to Evenfall from the North with circles under her eyes and a baby. A baby she insisted on caring for herself. At first it had been her innate sense of responsibility that drove her decision to do so. She had chosen to allow Jaime into her bed, so she would bear the consequences. Tending to the baby had also helped turn her mind from her grief. As Nikolas grew older, Brienne still refused to hand Nikolas over to a nurse or septa, as many others of their station did. She didn’t want to subject Nikolas to the dubious affections of an indifferent septa. Or worse, an abusive one. Selwyn occasionally made noises about finding a nurse, but Brienne ignored them. Fortunately her father knew when to leave well enough alone, because Brienne had always done things her own way. She certainly hadn’t listened to him when she was sixteen, and she wasn’t going to start at thirty-six. 

There were days since her return from the North when Brienne bristled under her father’s occasional bouts of high-handedness, when he insisted that he knew best.

Today was not one of them.

He had neatly plucked Nikolas from her arms, and then ordered her in no uncertain terms leave the castle and take Jaime with her. Neither of them were to return until sundown. _The castle is not going to fall into the sea if you disappear for a few hours,_ he’d said, herding them through the gate, while a kitchen boy shoved a basket of food into Jaime’s hand.

So Brienne had done the only thing possible. She led Jaime to what had been her favorite place to hide as a child: a sheltered clearing on the bank of a stream. By the time they had arrived, she was hot, sticky, and decidedly cross. The swiftly-moving water of the stream beckoned invitingly, and before Brienne could talk herself out of it, she toed off the sandals she wore, and then untied the laces of her shirt, dropping it to the ground. Her trousers and smallclothes soon followed and she waded into the cool water, just as she done when she fled the constant stream of criticisms from Septa Roelle. Brienne stood in the middle of the stream, the water lapping at her thighs. She glanced over her shoulder at Jaime, who watched her with a grin playing over his mouth and a gleam in his eye. ‘Aren’t you coming?’

She didn’t need to ask twice.

* * *

Brienne hummed in pleasure, her head pillowed on Jaime’s thigh. He ran his fingers through her damp hair, while she revelled in the sensation of not having a nearly three year old child clinging to her leg, following her to the privy, singing whatever nonsense popped into his head -- not to mention the bawdy songs his father and grandfather insisted on singing in his presence -- demanding rides on his pony, chasing the cats in the stables… 

The baby chose that moment to kick vigorously, and Brienne couldn’t hold back the sigh. She did not enjoy pregnancy, and privately thought any woman who claimed to do so was insane. Not that she would have told Sansa to her face. She could never quite reconcile herself to the idea that her body was not her own just now. That it refused to allow her to fight or ride. And wouldn’t again for some time. It was enough to make her wonder why anyone would voluntarily do this to themselves. In a few months, there would be another child. She still harbored a sense of ambivalence about having another one, when she was riddled with unspoken doubts about her abilities to raise them to be honorable people. 

She tried very hard to not seethe with resentment most nights while Jaime slept soundly next to her. Meanwhile, she could not find a comfortable position for sleeping. She was hot and sweaty. And Jaime -- Stranger take him -- wanted to sleep twined around her. Nikolas’ demands could only be fulfilled by her and no one else when he awoke in the middle of the night. In addition, the incessant need for the privy, punctuated by the internal prodding of the child, further disrupted her slumber. 

She sent a silent, but fervent prayer to any god -- old or new -- that might have been listening that this time her labors would be brief. Her memories of birthing Nikolas were somewhat vague and hazy. Unsurprising, really. Her entire world had narrowed to the confines of her chamber and the cool cloths pressed to her face with quiet words of encouragement from Sansa and the midwife when Brienne’s resolve faltered. The walls of Winterfell could have tumbled down, and Brienne wouldn’t have known or cared. When Sansa later told her two days had passed, Brienne had scarcely believed her. The only thing she actually remembered with startling clarity was the moment when Nikolas was finally out and his soft punchy cries filtered through the roar in her ears. Catelyn Stark hadn’t been wrong about the sort of strength it had taken to bring a child into the world. Unsung and unheralded, their private battles recognized only by other women. Brienne marveled that she’d ever sniffed at it as something lesser than. And wondered if she could find the courage to do it again.

Jaime moved his hand to the swell of her belly, rubbing in slow circles, calming the child. Brienne knew he felt not an iota of doubt. He’d been delighted at the prospect of another child in their lives. Brienne understood, of course, and refused to begrudge him the joy he felt . Contrary to what people might believe, she wasn’t devoid of empathy. The simple act of being able to acknowledge and openly love a child of his body, when he hadn’t been able to before must have given him a measure of contentment she could only imagine.

‘You’re a good father,’ she murmured. ‘You’re much better than yours was.’

Jaime chuckled. ‘That isn’t difficult to do,’ he responded, with a wry note to his voice. ‘Tywin only ever cared about his legacy and the dynasty that would last a thousand years.’ His hand slid over her middle in long, languid strokes. ‘Ironic that none of his living grandchildren will ever carry his name,’ he mused. 

Brienne made a noise in the back of her throat. She was grateful their children bore the name of Tarth. There were far too many negative associations with Lannister. As for Tywin’s legacy, he had one, just not the one he had envisioned when Jaime was a small boy. The name Lannister would live on in infamy, forever entwined with that of the Targaryens, synonymous with cruelty and indifference. People spat reflexively after speaking _her_ name, as if it would ward off the foulness associated with it. Not even the whores in King’s Landing would deign to dress like her or use her name.

Brienne opened her eyes and met Jaime’s contemplative gaze. ‘Do you miss her?’ 

‘Who?’ Brienne’s brow rose. He knew perfectly well to whom she referred. There was no other “her” except the one of which they never spoke. Jaime plucked a stalk of grass and began to chew it in order to buy himself some time. Not to avoid answering Brienne. She deserved an honest answer, and he needed to gather the myriad stands of his own thoughts and emotions, some of which he’d avoided examining in the last four years. ‘It’s a complicated question,’ he mumbled around the stalk. Cersei and Tyrion had called him the stupidest Lannister often enough that he wanted to choose his words with care. He tracked the stately progression of a cloud on the horizon before he spoke. Jaime was silent for so long that he thought Brienne might have drifted off to sleep in the meantime. She reached up and touched his arm, breaking his reverie. ‘I miss who she was… I miss the girl she was before our mother died and before our father turned so cold and aloof. Before everything she ever wanted was power.’ He let out a slow breath. ‘After Tommen committed suicide, I hardly recognized her.’ He looked down into Brienne’s limpid blue eyes. ‘Or perhaps I had changed to such a degree, that I no longer saw her as my twin. And when she died, I mourned the girl she had been, rather than the woman she’d become.’ He lifted her hand to his mouth and brushed a kiss across the palm. ‘But long before that, I gave you my… sword,’ he teased, chuckling softly. Brienne poked him sharply in the ribs. Jaime laughed and ran his hand over her hair. “Love” was no longer a word he threw about with abandon, but he knew with the same certainty that the sun would rise in the morning, that he loved her. Unreservedly and without question or condition. The smile faded to an echo on his lips, and he pressed her palm against his chest, to the steady _thump_ of his heartbeat. ‘You did steal this. You took it with you when you left King’s Landing with Podrick. And I thought I hadn’t one to give. Not until I saw you again at Riverrun.

‘It was yours, Brienne. And it will always be yours.’


End file.
